


my sweet escape

by lettersfromnowhere



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ember Island, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, is vacation fluff a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere
Summary: Katara and Zuko get away from it all.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 98
Collections: Zutara Fluff Exchange





	my sweet escape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RideBoldlyRide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RideBoldlyRide/gifts).



> For the Zutara Fluff Challenge! Title is from an AJ Rafael song. They’re in their thirties here, in accordance with @RideBoldlyRide’s request for “older Zutara slice-of-life.” Can be viewed as happening in continuity of any of my other Zutara kidfics, or not. 
> 
> This is so dang tooth-rotting...

They’re not quite young anymore, here in this place where the golden sheen of their youth had gleamed its brightest. The kitchen where Zuko had shyly asked whether Katara would like some help with the dishes all those years ago is the same, but time has cut away the teenage nerves of their first time on Ember Island. The bedroom where they’d awoken in each other’s arms their first week of marriage hasn’t changed, but they don’t awaken to find themselves holding each other quite so tightly as they did then; their kisses do not burn against hungry skin the way they did in their twenties, young and deliriously enamored of one another. The house remains, always, the same; they change.

But still, Zuko rests his head on Katara’s shoulder as she stirs breakfast – only Katara, he thinks fondly, would rule a country and still insist on cooking on vacation – and he thinks he’s never been happier to be here.

“Morning, love,” Katara says, still stirring. Ten years ago, she’d have turned and kissed him without a care in the world for whether the food burned; now, she’s too content like this, and too convinced of the merits of an unburnt breakfast, and she stays. He’s the warmth to her cool and, though she doesn’t move, the tense muscles of her shoulders relax as he holds her. “You’re up late.”

“I think I’ve earned the right.” He brushes his hand along the length of her arm until it covers her stirring hand, clasping a wooden spoon. She bats him away and he retreats, smiling; his hand rests at the crook of her elbow instead, after that. “Not sure how I managed to sleep in, though. I was half-expecting to be woken up.”

“I was too,” Katara admits, a little exasperated but fond. “Imagine my shock when no one had a bad dream and wanted to sleep in our bed.”

“I hope they’re doing all right.” Their tone is upbeat and the conversation light, but it’s hard not to notice the worry tingeing Zuko’s words. “Do you think-“

“Please. They’re probably having the time of their lives.” Katara doesn’t have to turn to see Zuko’s face blanch. “I bet you anything they’re eating ice cream at midnight and playing hide-and-explode with Iroh.”

“We’re going to come home to a bunch of property damage reports, aren’t we,” Zuko sighs.

“Well, that’s a problem for later-us.” Katara would’ve been in a frenzy six years ago at the very idea of it but now she merely smiles and takes the pan off the heat. It’s par for the course with their children, and even more so when Iroh is entrusted with their care. He’s the epitome of the indulgent grandparent, and he loves nothing more than to spoil them; with children like theirs, though, that breeds chaos more often than not.

If that’s the price of a few days of relaxation – no responsibilities, no children, just Zuko and Katara – she’ll take it.

“Probably,” Zuko sighs, and Katara finally turns. He looks down at her – dressed in his training tunic, her hair a little matted – and his eyes are bright and questioning. “Wake me up?”

She rolls her eyes but stands on her toes to kiss him. It’s brief, light, but she knows he never feels fully awake (or so he claims) without one; he won’t mind. It’s their morning routine, silly as it seems. He presses her to his chest, and she relishes the warmth of his skin against her cheek. “Awake yet?” she asks.

“Mm. Let me get back to you on that in a minute.” Zuko rests his chin atop her head, and she doesn’t press.

If he wants to hold her, she’s not about to complain.

Moments like this are the reason they come back to this place year in and year out, even with children and a country who need them. They’ve got so little time and space to be _themselves_ back at home, and every moment together feels stolen; here, they have nothing to think of _but_ one another. They can hold each other; they can spend long nights out on the beach, deep in conversation, watching the stars. They can sleep soundly, Katara’s head pillowed on Zuko’s chest or the other way around. They can be their old selves, longing stares and hungry kisses and ridiculous sweet nothings that neither fully believes anymore whispered against sweat-slicked skin.

So she melts, the tile cool beneath her feet and his arms warm about her waist.

“Thank you,” she says after a moment, her voice muffled as she presses her face to his collarbone.

“For what?” he chuckles, threading his fingers through her mess of tangled curls.

“Taking some time off, I guess,” she says after a pause, because she hadn’t, she realized too late, really known exactly what she was thanking him _for_ when she said it. “To be here with me.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” he says lightly, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “We needed a break.”

“We did,” she replies, and then adds, “our food’s getting cold.” She glanced over at the pot of congee she’d momentarily abandoned. “We should probably…”

“Yeah,” Zuko reluctantly agrees, letting her go. She smiles to herself at the poorly-concealed pout on his face but she isn’t concerned.

  
There will be time, later. That is the point of these trips, after all. Food might get cold, conversation might come to a screeching halt, but there will be time. There is always time here, away from a world and a family that their hands so tirelessly work to shape.

Vaguely, as he glances across the table at his wife, Zuko remembers being told, once, that this place would reveal his “truest self,” whatever that meant. He always thought it was ridiculous but right now, it feels plausible – reasonable, even. 

His truest self, he decides, is the one he is when they are here – the one whose only goal is loving her.


End file.
